||[Jan. 22nd, 2010|04:51 pm]
I have discovered the other members of my "family". They are the inheritors of a man named Yung-Ching Wang in Taiwan. See, he was a billionaire and left an estate worth almost 2 billion U.S.|
And he died just a couple of months before Taiwan changed its inheritance tax from 50% down to 10%. Oh, my Taiwanese brothers and sisters, I feel your pain.
Except of, course, even after all that, you are millionaires and I am not. But still.
For years I bought inexpensive windshield wipers -- why spend extra on something I'm just going to replace in a couple of months and I didn't like the blocky, chunky aesthetics of the more intense ones. Thin and spidery, that's how I like my windshield wipers to look.
I am an ass. The chunky ones work way better and the extra dough has already paid off in them lasting longer than the previous cheap ones. This should be a no-brainer, as I would normally choose a sturdy garden trowel over, say a PICKLE FORK, when thinking of digging a hole in the garden.
I am pleased that I was able to work PICKLE FORK into a post without even trying. A literary victory. This is a family joke. I found a card once -- it had an actual picture of some woman in late 1960's attire, scowling fiercely at a sideboard laid out with silver serving pieces. On the inside it read "Where's my damn pickle fork? I can't have anything NICE with you kids around!" And I sent it to my mother...and it still, fifteen years later, makes us both laugh.
You may not be laughing. Could be that you don't know that my mother and I, in true WASP fashion, have all sorts of obscure silver serving utensils, many of which have only ONE function. Why yes, I COULD set a table for twelve and everyone would have their own fish fork AND fish knife. An olive grabber. A cranberry sauce spoon. And yes, we each have pickle forks.
You still may not be laughing. Are you one of those people who finds it annoying when people describe Gary Larsen cartoons? Remember the one with the lions gathered around a dead zebra and one lion says "Hey, remember last summer when Stan laughed so hard and antler came out of his nose?"
Which is hysterical, too. But you could be a humorless bastard, that my friends, is not MY problem.
I've been trying to read more. If you liked the "old" Steven King, you will like his newest, The Dome. Don't get me wrong, it's not The Stand or even The Shining, but it was very hard to put down. Also, just delighted in Genesis by Bernard Beckett. Do NOT read reviews, don't. Not a word. It's way better if it's all brand new and you have no expectations beyond the book jacket. It's a very short (I read it in less than a week and stayed up way too late to finish it. I did NOT see the ending coming. Which I love in a book.) A commentary on what makes us human, what makes a society humane -- an updated Brave New World.
I've gotten my marching orders here at work for 2010. This year I will be devoting my Monday-Friday energies to: Trash Can Liners, Plastic Laundry Bags, Custom Napkins/Doilies and Toilet Paper. Oh, be still, my beating heart. I'm sure this will make me even MORE fascinating at cocktail parties. Well, anyway, blathering on and on about the features of high density can liners vs. low density liners will ensure that someone keeps my glass fill. "Oh, my god, someone get her another drink, we need her drunker and funnier. One more cider and surely she'll let it go."
I did not get up out of my chair today and punch a very fit late twenty-something co-worker who was talking to a friend about a fitness class they were taking and she was saying "It just makes me feel so bad that the class leader is almost forty and she's still more limber than we are." But I wanted to. It was the tone of "almost forty" that really tweaked my knickers.
Sigourney Weaver is 60 years old. Look up a recent picture. Her genes should be preserved for the good of the race. Screw all of these medicines, treatments. Turn her into a test-tube broodmare. There are others like her. Let's find them. Put them on a farm and breed them. Sorry, just getting in touch with my inner eugeneticist. Or farmer. It's not much of a leap. "But they're PEOPLE, not animals. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute: Log onto www.peopleofwalmart.com and go ahead, protest again. Hell, if we could get over cannibalism, we could feed NATIONS.
Now, I think it's time to haul my creaky, fat butt home. Where my overbred, skinny dog has probably crapped on the floor.